


Only this moment matters, because we're together in it

by Coldwintersnight



Category: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Herman is sad about it, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jonathan has been arrested, M/M, No Beta, Pining, Post-Canon, Some dumb boris karloff jokes, Their dynamic is quite soft, because i can't help myself, bit melodramatic, but I have reread it so many times my brain barely registers it as words anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldwintersnight/pseuds/Coldwintersnight
Summary: It's a bad idea; Herman knows that. Visiting Jonathan in police custody is not without it's fair share of risk and it may all end with him sitting in the cell beside him. But he can't keep away. There are things that need to be said. That doesn't mean, of course, that they will be.
Relationships: Jonathan Brewster/Herman Einstein
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	Only this moment matters, because we're together in it

**Author's Note:**

> So, I never expected to be writing this. I initially made this account to post about doctor who but I watched AAOL for the first time a few months ago and it stole my heart completely so now I'm in the smallest fandom I've ever been in. I don't know if anyone will read this, but I hope that whoever finds it enjoys what started out as an attempt to make the ending less sad, but ended up making it worse.

The door to the police station was surprisingly light beneath his touch, coaxing him inside. It clicked shut behind him with a finality that seemed to both soothe and enrage the misgivings darting around his mind. He was here now. He may not get out as easily as he'd come in, but at least he was _here_. He couldn't turn back now, even if he wanted to. He couldn't abandon Johnny again.

The room was unsettlingly quiet, save for the scratch of the police officer's pen. No one else was waiting and yet Herman was still discarded to a rickety line of chairs after he'd introduced himself as Jonathan's rather unconventional lawyer. The room felt too small, too warm and his fingers twitched along his collar as he waited; the seconds stretched along his nerves and elongated with his convoluted thoughts. He couldn't sit still; had to pace the room restlessly. It felt like that's all he'd been doing since Johnny got arrested. One endless race towards an escape he'd never reach.

He wished he just knew what Johnny was thinking; whether his presence had even been desired or not. From Johnny's point of view, Herman had been beside him... and then he hadn't, and the table he sat at to digest his defeat had only been laid for one, and perhaps it had all tasted a lot like betrayal. Perhaps Herman was the last person he wanted to see right then. He didn't know if that _was_ how Johnny viewed this whole ordeal but if it was, well… he'd be right. 

"Now, who was it you were looking to visit?" The police officer glanced up from his papers, seemingly noticing Herman for the first time. 

"I told you. Jonathan," he repeated, eyes glumly fixated on the scuffed floor beneath his shoes. It hardly seemed right, his Johnny captured by such incompetent fools. This was a parody of justice, and if they had to go down at all, they deserved the real thing. Except _they_ weren't doing anything, were they? Johnny was. "Jonathan Brewster."

"Ah, yeah, right, sure." He gestured to the officer behind him. "Hey, Joey. Little fella here to see our resident silver-screen legend." He could hardly get the pathetic excuse for a joke out before he crumpled into undeserved laughter. "Looks a bit like Boris Karloff, get it?"

"It sure wasn't intentional..."

"Say, you know they're still looking for his accomplice." The man seemed persistent in his irritancy, and his colleague did not feel the need to hurry with the keys. Herman shifted from one foot to the other, hands nervously twisting around each other. "German doctor or some such dubious character." He leant further over the desk, unperturbed by Herman's involuntary step back, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "I heard he was the mastermind behind the whole operation. Probably doesn't even need Jonathan, 'cept for heavy lifting and the like." Herman lifted a nervous eyebrow and tried not to dissolve into equally nervous laughter. _If only_. How much simpler that would be.

"No way!" The one-sided conversation had caught Joey's attention and he appeared to see his speculative contribution as having more value than the keys hanging oh-so-tantalisingly from his fingers. "See, I figure they're one of these criminal duos, like in the movies. No one without the other. Probably on his way to break Jonathan out right now."

"Well, you just let him try. I'll be right here waiting for him. No German doctor'll get past me in a hurry, I can tell you that much." He snapped his fingers at Herman. "You. Just need your name."

"Doc- Herman. Uhm, Einstein."

"Funny name, that. Foreign, is it?"

"Oh, no… not really."

"Go on then. Joey'll take you to him. But I warn you, he's not the most chatty of all our guests. And try to keep your fingers away from the bars," he chortled. "He bites."

…

Johnny's hunched figure took up most of the bed without him even having to lie down. Sullen, _lovely_ eyes flickered upwards as the door squeaked open, but otherwise he remained as still and lifeless as the atmosphere around him. Heavy iron bars built their spider web traps across the floor of the barren room, marking out each cage-like cell. Herman glanced expectantly- longingly- at the lock and for one exultant second it seemed as if Joey might let him in, his hand still clutched around the keys. One glance at Jonathan's pensive figure and subtle glare served to dissuade him. "You, uh, play nice now." He pointed an accusatory, if slightly wavering, finger at Jonathan before retreating. The two of them were left alone. Alone and together.

Herman couldn't speak. Could barely even move. He wanted to reach through the bars which kept their two worlds separate and contained: Johnny's a dark, cramped cell and Herman's, well, the rest of the Earth if you weren't being too specific. If you wanted to be pedantic, though, it could be argued that all that _mattered_ , all Herman considered important was in that dark, cramped cell too. He wanted Johnny's hand to meet his, clasp his fingers safely in the warmth of his friendship. But of course, there was always the option that he wouldn't and Herman just couldn't bear that. As it was he was balanced on the knife edge of uncertainty and even as it cut through his skin he infinitely preferred it to the not-quite-reality of rejection. And so he stood, prolonging the inevitable.

Johnny simply gazed at him and maybe there was fondness in his expression. And maybe there wasn't; just a despair-fuelled projection.  
"Doctor..." he breathed once Joey's footsteps had completely receded and _god_ , he could have melted into a satisfied nothingness right then and there. The whisper tore the air like scissors through lace, leaving the space between them rough and frayed but _open_ and Herman stepped through, gratitude threatening to suffocate him. "Hope you haven't come to share this cell with me." 

"Oh, _Chonny_ …" It had been meant as a rather mirthless joke, and maybe he should be returning a mirthless little laugh but it was hard to react at all, what with the equal weights of relief and confusion on his shoulders. At least Johnny was _talking_ to him, and he seemed to be glad that at least one of them got out unscathed. Or maybe he did wish, either through bitterness or a need for companionship, that Herman was sitting beside him. And maybe, somewhere, Herman did too. Both sides of the room had their temptations. One had a door and, stitched onto that, the outside world and his promising career as a dubious but not quite criminal surgeon. But the other side had Johnny, and that was the sort of raw longing that couldn't ever be dampened by common sense. "Not yet."

"Hm." He stood, pacing from one wall to another in a few easy strides. "You must be here to get me out then."

"Yes, Chonny! Of course, Chonny. Uhm… how, Chonny?" The name tasted sweet in his mouth. It was a comfort and a plea, though for what he did not know.

"No plan?"

"Not exactly." How charming the secret mastermind theory sounded right now. How exquisitely wonderful it would be for him to have a plan all lined up, for them to be the sort of people who were good at making plans, rather than facing life with a _we'll see what tomorrow brings (and kill it)_ kind of attitude. "I was hoping you could maybe fill in a few of the details."

"How many police officers are out there?"

"Two that I saw. Probably more."

"You can deal with two police officers, surely."

"Deal with… Aw, Chonny, you don't expect me to just kill 'em, do you?"

"Why not? You're good with a knife."

"Well if you want more handsome guards…" he muttered, internally running through the list of reasons why a police station wouldn't exactly be the ideal place to commit a murder, and why he wouldn't be the ideal man. With a reluctance that somehow managed to clamber up his admittedly rather distorted moral high ground, he dismissed the idea. "I'd get caught. I might- I..."

"I'll think of something." Jonathan interrupted, slicing through the complicated emotions battling it out in Herman's skull and across his face. "I, ah, didn't expect to see you here."

"I _needed_ to see you." He wasn't sure whether Johnny questioned his motivation, or simply his ability to get past the doors without handcuffs being snapped around his own wrists, or both. He thought it best to address the first option because really, maximum devotion had been his policy the whole time. He wanted Johnny to know what he felt for him, even if he hadn't actually asked. Even if he couldn't properly explain. "I need _you_."

Johnny's gaze was unwavering, eyes focussed on Herman's face with a look that balanced so delicately on the edge of curiosity and impassivity that Herman spent a few long seconds wondering if he hadn't answered the right question at all and was making rather a fool of himself. Finally, Johnny's tongue flickered nervously across his bottom lip and his voice when he spoke was dull, flattened, deliberately so. "No you don't. You'll be alright."

Herman drew in a long breath that didn't quite seem to reach his lungs. He needed the air to scream in frustration, as he so desperately wanted to, but the irrational part of his mind was telling him that he didn't have the air, and the rational part was telling him that screaming would do no good anyway because no amount of exertion could really communicate to Johnny just how _wrong_ he was. 

Instead he exhaled, shaking his head to dismiss doubts, abstract fears and distinct realities all at once. "I won't have to be. Because you're going to get out."

Johnny inclined his head in what could have been a nod. The words hung between them, otherwise unanswered, unquestioned. He was staring at him, right at him, yet their eyes didn't quite connect. He wished he'd say something. Then Johnny turned, head bowed, heels sharp, and whatever they _almost_ had was gone. Gone was so much easier than almost.

"Once I'm free," Johnny began amicably. "We're going to deal with Mortimer. He won't be escaping me again."

"No, not Mortimer!" Outwardly he gasped and internally he rejoiced. He'd begged for easy, and what was easier to him now than arguing with Johnny about murder? "Not with him newly wed and all! I'd hate to break up a couple in love, I really would. That would be too cruel..." He glanced up but if Johnny had gotten the hint he didn't show it.

"Alright..." He began to pace again, making a show of weighing up his options before turning back to Herman with a lopsided grin that was just pure evil, and somehow the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. "We'll kill the both of them."

"Oh, no!" He began to warm up, his exaggerated pleading melting the numbness away. Weaving through the loopholes of Jonathan Brewster's depraved mind was practically a stroll. "If we kill a cop… or maybe even two, that'll give you a good headstart on your aunts. A 12 to 14 lead… really, there's no need to bother Mortimer. That would just be unfair. They won't have much chance to catch up at Happy Dale anyway."

Now this was logical and Johnny couldn't possibly ignore that. Maybe he couldn't ignore Herman's pleading either. "Fine, fine. No killing Mortimer." He shook his head, amused, a slight chuckle curling up the corner of his lip as he watched Herman beaming in response. And then he sighed, fingers uncomfortably splayed against the sides of his trousers and Herman got the feeling that they'd just sunken back into that drowsy, blind place where real life waited restlessly. "Won't you take a seat, doctor?" He looked around, eventually spotting a metal chair to drag right up to the bars, the grinding of the uneven legs across the uncarpeted floor harsh against his ears. He sat, not knowing what was to come, feeling a little like one of his patients cramped into the tiny waiting room which was all he could afford. And then, without warning, he felt like Mortimer, perched on the chair in his aunt's kitchen, gleefully talking the last few minutes of his life away while Jonathan hovered behind him, curtain cord in hand…

Jonathan was not behind him, though. Something was, he felt; some uninvited, intangible gloom ready to strike him. But Johnny was in front of him, and that made all the difference.

From where he sat, Johnny looked very tall, even more so than usual, and he felt rather small and insignificant. And really rather safe. Soon enough he'd have to go back outside and the world would crawl back from the dense obscurity in the back of his mind where he'd shoved it. He'd be alone again, alone and unprotected, but for now Jonathan's shadow was perfectly comfortable. His friend glanced around and, realising that sitting on his bed would place him a comical distance from his visitor, opted for the floor directly in front of Einstein. Well, almost directly, if it wasn't for those damned bars. Now he was gazing up at him and really, being able to see the top of Johnny's head just didn't feel right, but the close up view of those eyes more than made up for it.

"Talk to me." His voice sounded gruff, restrained and there was something within it that was almost despair.

"Sure, um…" He was finding it difficult to concentrate. On his own words, anyway. This thread on his trousers was perfectly captivating, as was, of course, the man before him. "What do you want to talk about, Chonny?"

"Tell me what'll happen when we get out of here." He sounded too much like Herman felt.

"Well…" He leaned back, chair squeaking in protest, took an uncertain breath, and allowed himself this brief respite. His voice became soft and dreamy. "We'll start with the running… best to get that out of the way first. We'll go someplace far away, someplace they've never even heard of Boris Karloff. And I'll give you that new face you were after." He reached tentatively through the bars, tracing the contours of Johnny's cheeks, his nose, his lips… His patient sat unmoving, eyes closed, letting the doctor explore. "No drinking this time. Well, maybe just a little. But I'll watch a _nice_ movie before operating, just in case. And we'll lie low for a bit, just a bit, just until we're sure they can't find us. We can get a little house, with a garden and a chimney and… maybe leave the cellar till we're back in business and we can…" He realised as he rambled that they weren't talking about surgery anymore, so his fingers had no business being anywhere near Johnny's face, and yet there they still were, tracing his jaw. It could hardly have gone unnoticed, but surely if he just pulled away now he could save some semblance of composure… Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand, the silence in the room making even this equally silent gesture seem conspicuous. An opportunity to remark, to ridicule… 

Instinctively, Johnny's large hand found Einstein's and placed it back on his cheek. 

Neither spoke. Words would only ruin the moment. And what a moment it was. He felt simultaneously electrified and strangely calm, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It _did_ feel natural, like they belonged there, bodies slotted so casually together. If he closed his eyes, blocking out the barriers between them, persuading himself that the cold he felt wasn't the clinging pessimism of a police cell, he could almost pretend…

But he didn't want to close his eyes. Not when this might be his last chance to see Johnny. 

"You were saying?"

"We'll…" Herman started with such determination: after all, confidence was all he had to give. But he found that he had nothing to suggest. Everything was all too little or too much to ask for. He swallowed, finding that stubborn tone again. "We'll be together, Chonny."

"Yes..." He squeezed the hand in his and Herman could feel the muscles of his face moving beneath his palm as he spoke. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"I _will_ get you out," he said, jaw clenched, angry at himself because tears were forming in his eyes and he didn't know why, and angry because he did.

"I know." 

"Chonny… I-" The confession stuck in his throat. He didn't know why he wanted to save it now, like this, after all these years. It was a way to fill the silence, he supposed. Such a potent way to say goodbye... and he was _not_ saying goodbye.

In response he gazed with eyes full of sympathy and sadness, seemingly directly into Herman's soul. "Tell me when we're free." With a rough, awkward affection that was the closest Jonathan Brewster ever got to tenderness, he pressed a kiss to the palm of Herman's hand. "Then I can…" He swallowed, shuddering and it truly was _excruciating_ , because Herman had never seen him like this, so miserable and so willing to show it, and he probably never would again. It was something to be treasured and loathed for its rarity, and perhaps it would have been better if Johnny hadn't wanted to see him at all. "I'll tell you then."

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda want to write a sequel about Herman actually breaking Johnny out, which was what this was meant to be before I got hooked on the idea of them lying helplessly to each other. Actually I just want to write more of them in general. It's so relaxing. They really just broke pining down to it's bare essentials huh? 
> 
> Anyway this was the first thing I've ever posted on ao3 and I'm proud that I've at least gotten it out of my drafts, even if the idea of people actually reading my self-indulgent ramblings is kinda mortifying. Thanks for reading though :)


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